


Wishful Thinking

by TheSiren913



Category: GMM
Genre: Angst, F/M, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 03:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11614623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSiren913/pseuds/TheSiren913





	Wishful Thinking

It always hurt. No matter how hard I tried to bury it, no matter how I attempted to move on, it never healed. With time, it wasn't as raw. But like a scabbed wound, it reopened from time to time, building on top of itself, until I learned to live with it. Perhaps one day it would pass, but I'd have an ugly scar.

I'd never forget the first time he told me he didn't love me. I would have rather he'd curb stomped me. A crushing feeling overwhelmed me, like someone had simultaneously gouged out my heart and placed a giant weight there instead. I couldn't breathe. My world suddenly felt like it had imploded. It was a feeling I wouldn't have wished on my greatest enemy. A lesser woman would have tried to hate him instead to numb the pain, but I couldn't feel anything but adoration for him. It destroyed me. It hurt so much. It was an emptiness, a heavy emptiness, that I carried with me always.

Despite all that, I chose to be around. I couldn't fault him for not loving me, after all. Even though I'd have given anything for him to spare just a _little_  for me, just a tiny amount of romantic love that I could hide away in my heart and be content with, I couldn't be angry at anyone but myself for not having it. I'd have given anything for it. It made many months of time around each other horrifically painful. Yet I chose it, because the thought of letting him go was even worse. It made him uncomfortable to see me sad over it, so I learned to keep it to myself.

After a time, it began to subside. I grew callous to my own feelings. It toughened, and I learned to appreciate the moments that I was given. Every so often, the wound would reopen, and the pain would return, but I became good at hiding it. I'd have quiet moments. Any time I wished I could wrap my arms around him, any time I wanted him to tell me he loved me, any time I felt the urge to kiss him, any time I wanted him to touch me- I'd put on a mask. I became a small, sad, unassuming thing inwardly, all while wearing a smile. He was never the wiser. It broke my heart to know he would never feel that lightness of heart, that eager anticipation to see me, the longing for a touch the way I felt. He would never love me the same way I loved him. And while I knew it was foolish and that he didn't care, I loved him anyway.

Each day, I'd wait for it to pass. But it never did. I knew I'd love him forever, and this would always be a wound. It would scar upon scar, until he told me he loved me or the world ended. 


End file.
